


get cut down/begin to grow

by airblends



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Artist!Daishou, M/M, Or Is It?, Pining, Post-Break Up, Post-Canon, Roommates, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 17:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10518837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airblends/pseuds/airblends
Summary: “It’s you,” Kuroo says.“I’m what?” Suguru’s standing in the door, a bowl of cereal in his hand.“The guy running that artsy flower instagram? It’s you.”Suguru’s face slides right off, down, down into his cereal. He drops it, but no one notices. Maybe he didn’t drop it? He can’t tell. He can’t feel a thing. He feels everything.“Can we talk?”Suguru’s world doesn’t crash and burn. It just stops altogether.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Haikyuu Flowerzine! Please check out the full zine [here](https://twitter.com/hqflowerzine/status/847958036878565376)! (It's free and chock-full of beautiful art and writing!)

 

“It’s you,” Kuroo says.

“I’m what?” Suguru’s standing in the door, a bowl of cereal in his hand.

“The guy running that artsy flower instagram? It’s you.”

Suguru’s face slides right off, down, down into his cereal. He drops it, but no one notices. Maybe he didn’t drop it? He can’t tell. He can’t feel a thing. He feels everything.

“Can we talk?”

Suguru’s world doesn’t crash and burn. It just stops altogether.

  


_12 weeks earlier_

 

The apartment is trashed.

Trashed as in shattered dishes on the floor, orphaned clothing everywhere, the entire place covered in crumbs and puddles of drying alcohol.

Suguru’s roommate is nowhere in sight. Of course.

“Kuroo!” he bellows, stepping over beer bottles  and suspicious wet patches on the carpet. “Move your ass over here, stat!”

“I’m innocent, god, turn it down a notch.”

Suguru whips around to a disheveled Kuroo emerging from the hallway. He looks like a night of schoolwork, pale-skinned, hair sticking up in every which direction, ink marks on his face. Suguru stiffens, his arms crossing reflexively. A strange feeling of nostalgia overcomes him at the sight, warmth coiling in his chest like that ugly high school breakup never happened. Kuroo blinks and rubs sleep from his eyes. Which is all fine and dandy, but it doesn’t explain the chaos in the living room.

“Who’s responsible for this?”

Kuroo grimaces. “I promised a few friends they could use the place ‘cause I owed them a favor.”

“Who?” Suguru repeats.

Uncomfortable doesn’t even begin to describe the look on Kuroo’s face. He’s looking for a way to ease the tension, but it’s clear there’s no way out. Suguru knows him too well—lying never worked, not even when they were still on better terms. “Uh, Koutarou–”

Suguru’s hands ball into fists. “I knew it!” he says, shrugging out of his coat. Bokuto Koutarou might just be the one person Suguru dislikes more than his pesky ex-boyfriend of a roommate. The roommate he had almost had a nice thought about. He clears his throat. “I don’t want him in here ever again. Go clean this up, I can’t even breathe.”

He turns on his heel and storms back out into the hallway. Slamming his door is something he’d very much like to do, but he restrains himself. He doesn’t want any of his flower vases to break.

 

_11 weeks earlier_

 

Daishou’s not talking to him, not since the party. Daishou isn’t even that opposed to parties, so Tetsurou’s more than a little confused. It’s not like _he_ never invites people over.

He might even be straight-up avoiding him, considering how early he’s been getting up lately. Absolutely unnecessary—Tetsurou knows his schedule as if it were his own.

The only person Daishou tolerates around the place now is Kenma, who started university last spring and has been Tetsurou’s friend since, well, forever. They’re kind of a package deal.

“Kuro, can I borrow some of your notes from second semester? I think I’m missing something…” Kenma chews on the end of his pencil. They’re poring over their textbooks in Tetsurou and Daishou’s tiny living room.

“Your notes are like a trillion times better than mine, they won’t do shit,” Tetsurou says. It’s true; taking legible notes has never been his forte.

“You don’t study much anyway,” he comments, poking Kenma’s bicep, “all you ever do is stare at your phone. What’s hot on the interwebs right now?”

Kenma probably knows he’s joking, but he shows him anyway. He’s got instagram open and the page is full of flowers, watercolors, curly hand lettering and poetry. This isn’t Kenma’s style at all.

“What’s this? Are you in love or something?”

“No, I just think it’s aesthetic. I like looking at the pictures.” Kenma shrugs and opens another app that displays glittery candy in grids. Whatever.

 

_8 weeks earlier_

 

Suguru squints. Arranging pressed flowers on a sheet of paper in a way that’s pleasing to the eye? Harder than it looks. Though, doing this every other day calms him between university and the two jobs he’s juggling. He inhales the light, unobtrusive scent of daisies, listens to the gentle scrape of petal against paper. Perfect. He glues them together, slowly, carefully. Then he grabs his watercolors. An unconscious smile tugs at his lips.

 

_7 weeks earlier_

 

Tetsurou’s obsessed. He’d never admit it, but ever since Kenma showed him the flower instagram, he keeps going back to it. It’s so nice, and some of the poems kind of resonate with him. He can never figure out what exactly they’re about, but sometimes his heart will squeeze a little, or his breath will catch in his throat. It’s like they’re addressing him, directly, specifically, magically. Anyone would come back for more of that.

 

_6 weeks earlier_

 

He’s going to miss the bus, he’s so late, Suguru’s tripping over himself to get his coat and shoes on. He stumbles, catches himself with a hand braced against the wall. He stands, spins around, takes a step–

“Ouch! Watch … out.” Kuroo’s blocking the way. Hands on his shoulders. Eyes on his eyes. Teeth digging into lips.

Suguru’s heart jumps, goes into overdrive, and screeches to a halt. Kuroo hasn’t looked at him like this since …

“Watch out,” Kuroo repeats, softly. “You could’ve gotten hurt. You need a ride?”

Suguru hesitates. Kuroo’s eyes linger, familiar and unsettling. Suguru nods. For the first time in a long time it doesn’t make him feel guilty.

 

_5 weeks earlier_

 

_After a million years_   
_of wading against your current_   
_you carved out a mould_   
_for my feet to stand_ _  
in tune with you once more._

Something shifts inside Tetsurou’s chest. Something long lost, scarred and muddled, fights its way back to the surface. A few times he’s considered printing some of the images on the instagram to stick them on his wall, but he’s hesitant. What if someone saw?

There’s a knock on the door and Kuroo locks his phone like he’s been looking at something indecent.

“You want some of my leftovers?” Daishou.

“No. Yeah. I’m… Can you set them aside for later?”

“Sure.”

Tetsurou’s stomach twists and turns. He’s hungry and not hungry at the same time. He gets into bed and pulls the covers up to his nose.

 

_3 weeks earlier_

 

It was Kenma’s idea. Kenma of all people had dragged Kuroo and him and a few other guys from uni to the festival only to ditch them in the crowd.

“Where the hell did everyone go?” Suguru hisses, not even bothering to take the venom out of his words.

“Heck if I know. The firework’s not until midnight.”

Suguru wrings his hands, cursing Kenma. He’s got nothing to talk about with Kuroo. He’s too busy trying not to break his cocktail glass of feelings to make conversation.

"Come on, let’s just head home, I’d rather watch TV anyway.”

Suguru laughs. Kuroo’s so … Kuroo. He hasn’t changed one bit.

A hand touches his, it tickles, and then fingers snake between his own. Kuroo’s not looking at him. “Or would you rather stay?”

Suguru holds his breath. This is a dream. And because it is, he can do whatever he wants. He grins.

“Hell no. Let’s go.”

 

_1 week ago_

 

Return. Repair. Regret. Those few words are circling around Tetsurou’s head, have been for a while. Daishou’s been weirdly friendly these past few weeks, and it’s tugging at his heartstrings. It revived all the what-ifs and maybes he used to roll around in right after the breakup and the first few days after they were forced to move in together. Whenever he smiles that sharp-toothed smile at him, he hurts.

The instagram’s been helping, with all it’s subdued longing and wishing and the emotions embedded in it. But it’s not helping enough.

 

_2 days ago_

 

Suguru’s hit a creative roadblock. Nothing looks good, nothing sounds right. He knows. He knows he’s in trouble. This entire account has turned into a place to empty his heart; it’s overflowing, and every time he tries to do something about it he’s swept away, forced to listen to Kuroo move in the next room.

 

_1 day ago_

 

Tetsurou stares. The screen stares back. He’s looking for something, anything. Daishou’s handwriting gleams back at him. He blinks a tear from his eye.

 

***

 

Kuroo motions for him to sit down. Suguru doesn’t think he can, but he somehow makes it to the couch. He has lost his appetite. “Who told you?” he asks, voice shaking.

“No one. I think I’ve known for a while. I...”

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear you make fun of me.”

“Dai—Suguru, I’m not making fun of you. Can we talk?”

_Can we talk._ Suguru feels like crying. Kuroo’s mouth is set into a half-smile. Fear runs through him, and at the same time, hope.

He swallows. “Let’s talk.”

Kuroo’s smile fills out, and he opens his arms. “You wanna talk over here?”

Suguru’s throat feels tight. He wants.

 

(So they do.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Boy oh boy did I have to trim this mofo. This was originally almost a thousand words longer, thousand words that did not fit into the zine unfortunately, so I had to make some sacrifices. I'm a big dumb, so I forgot to save an uncut version, ergo: this is all there is now. But how does the saying go — brevity is the soul of wit. I'd been wanting to write some kuroshou, so I hope I did them justice. Thank you for reading!


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